Undone and Redrawn
by Drivingyouallnuts
Summary: What if Tony had died from his wounds after the fight against Thanos in Infinity War? What if he had simply given up and let himself bleed to death on that desolate planet only to wake up somewhere else completely and be given a possible second chance?...What if Peter was there to help him along the way? (FUTURE SLASH BUT NOT BETWEEN TONY AND PETER)
1. The End and the Beginning

Hello Readers! This story has been on the back-burner for quite some time, and I've already posted some chapters on AOC. But yah know what? I think it's about time I brought it to this sight too. :) Constructive criticism is welcomed!

* * *

Tony had tried. He really had.

But just like everything else in his life, he had fucked it up.

They'd lost.

The Guardians were gone. The wizard was gone. The kid…was gone.

"Poof"

Just like that. Leaving nothing behind but the dust covering his fingers.

The stab wound in his side had re-opened up a while ago. It throbbed with a burning heat every time he shifted even the slightest bit and Tony would bet a million bucks that he was bleeding internally. Of course, this didn't stop him from moving around anyway. In an ironic and cruel way, the pain kept him from breaking down completely. Sitting for hours looking at nothing, feeling nothing but the grainy texture that layered his hands was something his ever-moving mind could only do for so long before simply shutting off. He needed to move—do something—_anything._ To get his mind off of the reality that was beginning to bring the familiar tendrils of darkness at the corners of his vision, compress his chest in a way that the arc reactor never had. He needed to fucking _breathe_.

And so, he automatically went into mechanic mode. Ignoring the ache in his abdomen, the well-oiled gears began turning in his head and Tony started to do what he did best. He began to build. Salvaging as much tech from the crash as he could, blueprints poured like continuously moving rivers through Tony's mind, creating design after design for a way home.

_If there was even a home to return to that is, _a self-punishing voice whispered like acid in his ear.

Ruthlessly shoving the thought back, the man paused and leaned against a large part of machinery, taking a moment to ground himself in the growing pain in his side. Somehow, at some point during his excursion he had overstrained himself and aggravated the wound even more, triggering a slow but constant flow of blood to stain through his shirt and trickle down his back and stomach. The nanotech could only go so far and first aid had definitely not been its intended use.

Taking a shaky breath in, Tony shut his eyes tight as the world began to swirl around him and took a moment to simply feel. The wound hurt like a bitch. He wouldn't last another day like this, especially with the blood loss. The acid voice rose once again and sarcastically declared that it would be for the best if he lasted for less. Tony flinched but couldn't bring up the energy to argue. In fact, he agreed. This was all his fault anyway. He should have done something differently, been faster, thought smarter, been _better. _He didn't deserve to go on when the others hadn't survived. Why, of all people, was he allowed to still be alive when everyone else was gone? Why couldn't Tony have been taken as well? Why was he always the one left behind?

The energy seemed to quickly seep out of him at that final thought, plans and blueprints rapidly unraveling as the man weakly slid down to the ground, back against his unfinished project. The spark of the mechanic slipped away only to reveal the broken man underneath. Tony's eyes began to glaze over as the fight disappeared as quickly as it appeared, gaze wandering numbly over the just-as-shattered landscape before him. Most of it was completely destroyed during the battle, large pieces of rock and tech scattered miscellaneously around the man like an eerie piece of abstract art, made even more unnerving as Tony's vision was yet again taken over by the dark shadows at the corners of his eyes. They were growing bigger by the second. The familiar ringing began as well and the man took in a painful, unsteady breath.

Normally, he would do everything in his power to shake himself out of these episodes. However, this time, he welcomed the creeping darkness. It was like an old friend, a nightmare he embraced like a well-worn blanket, comfortable and used, helped along even faster by the growing loss of blood. It was way better than the new nightmare that surrounded him now.

What was the point of fighting it now?

There was nothing left with probably nothing to go back to. Everyone with him had kicked the bucket except for the blue chick, and she had already wandered off to god knows where, not even blessing him with so much as a glance of acknowledgement. People back home were probably in shock and mourning the loss of half of the population already. Tony didn't want to even _think_ about whether or not Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, or any of the others had made it. He didn't know what he would do if he learned that they hadn't.

So, he sat and waited. For what, he didn't know, but he waited. Till his back became stiff against the hard metal of the machinery and his legs went numb, and the pain in his side dissipated to a worryingly soft thrum. Maybe it was for death to take what should have been taken in Afghanistan. Or maybe it was for the tears to finally come. Seeing the closest person he had ever viewed as a son disappear in his arms—after _apologizing _to him of all things—one would expect a person to feel the need to cry. But he couldn't. The tears just wouldn't come. All he felt was an emptiness in the pit of his stomach as the slight ringing in his ears continued on like a lullaby and the darkness crept in faster than ever.

Time passed. The light soon faded quickly into the planet's version of night. However, Tony didn't bother to move. He continued to sit where he was, out in the open, the stars looking down at him in their multitudes, forming patterns so distinctly different than those that could be seen from Earth that Tony could almost feel like he was swimming within the vast sea of the universe. It was a truly beautiful sight to behold. However, Tony couldn't truly appreciate it. All he could think of was that he'd rather be looking at soft red hair and warm green eyes.

Ah, Pepper. She had always loved the stars. He wished that she was there to see this with him. He wished he could have had more time with her. Oh, how he wished…

But there was no more time. Tony could tell. He was running out of it fast. The darkness that surrounded him now wasn't the one of cold panic from his nightmares, but one of warm peace. He didn't know when it had shifted to something different, but it was no less familiar. This wasn't the first time Tony had met death of course. He knew it like he knew fear. As much as he tried to escape from the two, they were both permanently intertwined with him. He had been the merchant of the first and the victim of the other. But it was in that moment, as Tony sat looking up at the stars, that the man was for once the victim of neither.

For in that one moment, he saw the face of the woman he loved. And for one moment, Tony felt tears form and his breath stutter, his dust covered fingers reaching out towards her phantom smile. Hallucination, delusion, gift from death itself, it didn't matter. What mattered was that it was as if a sun had been lit in a pit of darkness, brighter to him than any of the stars above. And as Tony's hand almost brushed the curve of her cheek, her image moved away playfully just beyond his reach, eyes filled with mirth.

The mans' lips curled.

That was just like his Pepper.

She was always such a tease.

And so Tony Stark let his hand fall, closing his eyes for a final time as he laid among the wreckage, alone and millions of light years away from home.

-.-.-.-

_I don't want to go!_

_I don't want to go…_

_I'm sorry…_

Peter gasped as he jerked awake, his eyes wide with fear.


	2. Far From Home

Being Spider-man was an amazing experience, especially with the added bonus of having flippin' spider enhanced powers. The wall climbing, the agility, the super strength. All super cool things to get with the superhero package. Even the spider-sense was a pretty interesting thing to have. Being able to tell when danger was coming came in handy about 99.99% of the time. However, there was one thing that Peter had overlooked when it came to having the ability of what was basically premonition. When there came a time that Peter could feel his impending death, there would probably be a situation where not even his powers could save him and he would have to suffer with the knowledge that he was about to die.

So, when Peter felt himself disintegrating, he didn't know what to do. His automatic reaction was to cling to Mr. Stark for dear life and hope that it would somehow keep him anchored to where he was.

However, that obviously hadn't worked.

He had disappeared right in Mr. Stark's arms. The look on the man's face, a mix of dread, guilt, horror, and grief, as he looked down at Peter would be carved in the back of the teenager's eyelids forever. He had felt so much regret at that moment—to be the one to cause so much pain in his mentor.

It felt like shit.

So, he apologized. Right before…it happened.

Peter cursed. They had both felt so helpless. _He _had felt so helpless.

Of all the things he could have gone and done, it was the one thing that Mr. Stark was most afraid of.

He had died.

But it wasn't on Mr. Stark, this was on him. _He _was the one who decided to put on the suit. _He _was the one who kept putting _on_ the suit. _He _was the one who decided to stow away on the spaceship. _He _was the one who wanted to keep fighting.

But of course, the older man wouldn't see it that way now, would he? He would totally blame himself for the entire thing. Peter had seen Mr. Stark at his lowest after Siberia. He saw the pain, the regret, the self-hatred that was etched into his face and into the very way he held himself. He looked like he had the entirety of the world's burden on his shoulders, forced to do nothing as he watched his own world crumble to pieces. It was a place of mind Peter didn't want him to go back to. He was afraid of what the man would do without anyone around to stop him from doing something rash. And now he had gone and screwed it up.

And Aunt May…

Oh god. Aunt May. He had left her too. Left her without even saying goodbye. She would be all alone now, not even knowing where he was or that he was...

There had been no one else but her and Peter ever since Uncle Ben died. It had been them against the world and the struggles of school and single parenting. It had taken so long to get situated again and to get back to having some semblance of a normal life. They had even finally agreed about his hero-ing business too. It took some time, obviously. But with multiple arguments, statistical pie-charts, and the power of pure stubbornness, Peter had finally convinced his aunt to let him keep being Spider-man. As long as he finished his homework, kept his grades up, and didn't die of course.

And he had gone and screwed up the ever fricken fudge out of that one, didn't he? To be honest, two out of three was actually pretty good in Peter's book, but that didn't really matter since he was dead.

…

But was he?

He wasn't quite sure now because at the moment, he was gasping for breath and staring up at the face of Star-dude or whatever his name was. The bearded man just stared right back at him, a perplexed look on his face. There were others around him too—the bug lady, the big man with the tattoos and the wizard dude who was, at the moment, pacing back and forth. The young hero was still on the cold ground, hands reaching for something that was no longer there, right where Mr. Stark was supposed to be leaning over him.

Visibly shaking, Peter got up slightly and propped himself up on his elbows, looking around frantically. The one person he _needed_ to be there was nowhere to be seen. Looking back up at the man standing over him, he couldn't help the question that bubbled out of his mouth.

"Um…was that real or did I just imagine all of us dying 'cause I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be dead."

Star-beard dude nodded, mirroring Peter's look of 'scared-shitless' mixed in with a bunch of 'what the fuck?'

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we're all supposed to be not-alive right now."

"We're not supposed to be 'not-alive' at _all_," the wizard man spoke up. All eyes went to him. He looked almost frantic, a mirage of emotions playing on his face as he steepled his fingers under his nose, deep in thought. Not pausing a second in his pacing, he continued, expression finally landing on surprised wonder, "We shouldn't even exist enough to be 'not-alive.' That's how the gauntlet is supposed to work."

"So, it…glitched then?" the antenna lady asked gently after a pregnant pause.

"No," the man stilled and looked at them grimly, "It worked. Very efficiently actually. But not in the way I had foreseen. It appears that even after watching 14,000,605 of our possible futures, there was still one that escaped my notice."

"And which one was that?" Peter asked hesitantly.

The wizard promptly answered. "It seems that once Thanos used the gauntlet, it did in fact remove us from existence. However," he continued, "instead of just deleting us altogether, it simply put us somewhere else, subsequently splitting our universe in half."

All of them were silent as each person took a moment to let the words soak in. However, after a second, Star-dude just huffed in frustration, obviously more confused than he was before.

"What the hell does that mean then?"

"What it means, Mr. Star-Lord," the other man clarified, a glint of fire in his eyes, "Is that we are all very much alive."


	3. Lacrima

"Well, that's all good and dandy," Star-Lord drawled sarcastically, "But that still means that my girlfriend is dead and half of the universe is separated from our half of the universe. Meaning: Thanos has still basically won."

The wizard shook his head, a calculating look in his eyes, "Not necessarily. He may have won the battle, but we haven't lost the war. There is still a chance that we might be able to reverse the effects of the infinity stones."

Peter's heart leapt at the man's words. He could go back?

Oh god, yes. That sounded like a good plan.

He _so_ wanted to go back. He _needed_ to go back, maybe go apologize again and again to Mr. Stark for apparently-dying-but-not-dying in front of him, and then go hug his aunt till she'd have to beat him away with a stick.

Yes. Peter would definitely be okay with doing that.

But how? He wasn't a genius like Mr. Stark, but he was pretty sure—according to geodesic mathematics and theoretical hypotheses about black holes—that what the wizard guy just said was possible. However, was there any real way to get back to what it was before? Once separated, it is very hard to determine whether or not an object so complex as an entire half of a universe could even return back to its original place without any adverse side effects. And they couldn't just undo it. The magic dude had already given up the time stone to Thanos and, if the big grape wasn't even in this half of the universe, there was no way to get it back.

"How though?" Peter asked aloud, catching the two bearded men's attention once again. Star-Lord seemed to have the same train of thought and looked back at the wizard expectantly, eyebrow raised.

In response, the caped man simply shrugged. For all of his goateed, all-powerful magic possessing-ness he didn't seem to have much confidence in what he was saying. Nor did he seem to have an actual plan. All the bravado that Peter had seen on the way to fight Thanos seemed to have faded after the man had gone and seen all of those potential futures. He looked wearier than before, as if he had seen things that should never have been seen.

To be fair, he probably had.

"I have no idea," the wizard confessed bluntly.

Peter's stomach dropped.

"All I can tell you for now," the man continued, "Is that is that there _is _a solution. We just need to find out what it is."

Peter inwardly sighed. Well… wasn't that assuring?

-.-.-.-

After learning the simply brilliant news from wizard guy—

"_Call me Strange_."

"_Why would you call yourself that? You should have more self-confidence."_

_"…"_

—everyone decided they needed a break. Apparently, believing that you're going to die after physically watching yourself disintegrate, can be a bit draining.

The three Guardians wandered somewhere together to lick each other's wounds. The young hero could see the consolidating hand antenna girl (Sorry, _Mantis_) put on Star-Lord's arm, as they walked away, his shoulders slumped in grief. He _had_ just lost his girlfriend after all. Strange also went into his own corner of solitude as well, claiming the need to meditate.

Which then left the young spider to his own devices.

Peter didn't know what to do with himself. Before, he had been too distracted by the fact that he was still alive.

Now, though…now, his mind was going a hundred miles a minute.

His eyes burned and his throat tightened.

In all honesty, he was one second away from having a panic attack. He'd taken too big of a bight than he could chew. Not to mention that he was currently on an unknown planet, in a god-knows-where part of the galaxy, with people he met maybe half a day ago, and the closest person he had as a father most likely mourning him right at that moment…not aware he wasn't actually dead.

God, this was so complicated.

Before he knew it, Peter felt tears falling down his face. He tried to wipe them away quickly, but to his dismay they just kept coming, one by one. Frustration immediately coursed through him. This was not the time to cry, he thought as his chest began to tighten.

He needed to make a plan. He needed to stop Thanos from ever doing this. He needed to apologize to Mr. Stark again and get back to Ned and Aunt May, who were probably worried sick about him. He needed to get home. He needed to stop crying. He needed to stop thinking about what it felt like to die. He needed to…

A sob wracked through Peter's body, totally against his will. He tried to keep it in and covered his mouth to muffle the sound, but there was no point. Once started, there was no stopping it. The young hero could do nothing but let it run its course. Peter's body curled in on itself and the teenager needed to kneel down just so that he could breathe properly.

He was beginning to hyperventilate.

The next time another sob bubbled up, the teen didn't even try to stay quiet, releasing his pain and frustration into the open air. It hadn't been this bad since the Vulture had collapsed a building on top of him a couple of years ago. He had felt so utterly helpless then—under all those tons of cement. However, it couldn't compare to what he felt now. Thousands of galaxies separated him from home, there was no telling whether the people he cared about most were even alive.

No, this wasn't like that time with the Vulture at all.

This was ten times worse.

And so, Peter cried. He cried and shouted and cried some more until the tears ran out. And even after that, his body shook and his ears rang. It wasn't until he felt a warm hand at his temple and a calming golden light seep into his vision that he finally slowed and fell into a deep and restless slumber.

-.-.-.-

He shouldn't have left the boy alone.

Stephen berated himself. Entering into his astral projection state for so long had been a mistake. It was completely moronic of him. He had wandered too far around the planet, searching for food and other supplies, that by the time he came back to his body, the young spiderling had already gone through the brunt of his anxiety attack alone. All he could do by then was cast a small sleeping spell to help calm him down.

The young man was now lying warm and fully wrapped within the Cloak of Levitation. His expression nearly void of any of the pain that had creased his features when Stephen had found him. Seeing him like that, vulnerable and shaking, made the man remember with dawning horror that this superhero was more or less a child. Almost an adult and yet so fragile. It made the sorcerer even more determined to not let any more harm come to this boy as long as he was in his charge. He had gone through quite enough.

Stark…

Tony…

Tony would never forgive him if he allowed the boy to get hurt.

He wasn't quite sure he would be able to forgive himself either.


	4. Stagnant

Hello again readers! We're back to Tony's perspective. As you guys may have already noticed, I'm going to be switching perspectives frequently throughout this story and it's not going to be just between Tony and Peter. I hope you guys are liking this so far. There's quite a few twists and turns yet to come!

* * *

The moment Tony gained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the whispering.

It kind of resembled singing actually. Multiple voices surrounded him, each one individual and unique, like tiny bells ringing. The entire thing was both soothing and unsettling at the same time. The man couldn't tell which one he leaned towards more, but he decided to keep his eyes closed all the same.

The next thing that came to his immediate attention was that he wasn't laying on anything. He wasn't touching anything at _all_ in fact. It was as if he were floating in mid-air at zero gravity.

That wasn't exactly normal, was it?

A part of him felt like he should have been more alarmed than he actually was, but there was something about all this that was keeping him from panicking. It felt _right_ somehow. Like Tony was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Still, there were quite a few things that needed thinking about.

Like, where the hell was he?

Sense of "rightness" be damned, the man was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to be floating in mid-air at the moment…

Then it hit him.

Images flashed and Tony remembered the feeling of bleeding out on a cold and rocky planet—the hopelessness as his world literally fell apart.

Shit.

He'd gone and fucking died.

Pepper was never going to forgive him. He'd left her alone. Again.

And Peter.

Oh god Peter.

The kid was gone too—along with half of the rest of the universe.

Shit fucking Christ.

This was not how he thought his day was going to go when he woke up this morning. Things had just started getting better too. He had finally been able to get his life back together, and Pepper had _finally_ agreed to marry him. They'd even started talking about the possibility of having kids!

He could never return to that now…

It was too late.

This was a far cry to how he felt while he was on that alien planet. During his short time there after _it _happened, he had basically felt nothing, too much in shock to have registered the pain.

Now, though…

Now, Tony's head throbbed as he tried to hold back tears and his chest ached for the loss of a life that could have been. It had felt as if his arc reactor had caved in and stopped working altogether, the metal shards burying themselves deeper into his lungs and making it harder to breathe.

Tony felt the rolling emotions begin to swiftly overwhelm him, and the familiar sour taste settled in his mouth as the onsets of an anxiety attack started to emerge.

However, before it could become any worse, something strange happened.

The whispering around him suddenly became louder and seemed to embrace him. As if in response, the ache in his chest disappeared as quickly as it had begun and a sense of peace took its place like it had never existed.

What the fuck?

So, creepy whispery things had creepy powers too? Oh, he just _had _to see what was going on now.

It was with this that the genius finally opened his eyes.

Only to immediately close them…and open them again minutely just to check if it was all simply an illusion.

Tony's breath stuttered; his problems momentarily put on the backburner.

Yep. Nope.

Not an illusion. But, _god_, did Tony want it to be.

Yet he also didn't.

For there, before him and around him, as he floated in the middle of fucking space were what looked like the six infinity stones. Except, instead of simply being in their relatively small forms, they all radiated large tendrils of their own respective color, so bright that it looked like you could touch them. Each tendril interconnected with one another like haphazard spindles of a web as they formed a cocoon-ish like structure around the man.

And they whispered.

Talking amongst themselves and, for all Tony could tell, to him.

From what could be seen beyond, however, was even more breathtaking. For he could see huge, glistening branches of both light and darkness mixing and intertwining together, forming what looked like a ginormous tree. In its entirety, it was as if one were seeing everything and nothing—life and death itself—the end and the beginning combined, with each leaf telling every secret of reality.

And in all its wonderment and undefinable glory, Tony blacked out…

-.-.-.-

The second time Tony gained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the silence.

There was no sign of the whispers, and the emptiness immediately made the man feel like he had just lost something precious.

The next thing he noticed were the soft sheets that he laid upon. Without really thinking about it, Tony automatically burrowed himself further into the comforting warmth. They felt vaguely familiar and smelled distinctly like his aftershave.

Huh…

They weren't the sheets from the new Avenger's building or the unused ones from his penthouse.

So, where the hell was he? Had it all been a dream?

Tony slowly blinked his eyes open, almost expecting to see the same magnificent scene as before, and was both relieved and disappointed as his vision focused on a plain ceiling. The lights were off, but Tony could see the fuzzy outlines of a room around him as he squinted sleepily around the bed.

Well, he was no longer floating in space. So, that was a plus…

Too busy in his sluggish speculations, the billionaire almost had a heart attack as excruciatingly loud ACDC music began to boom through the walls and light flooded the room.

"Fuck!"

Tony promptly tried to scramble out of the bed with every intention of triggering his nanobot suit. However, his feet unfortunately got tangled amongst the sheets, causing him to fall quite painfully onto the floor.

The moment his back hit the ground; the music stopped, and in its place came a familiar male British voice.

"Good morning, sir. I hope your personally designed alarm was to your liking," he said almost amusedly, "However, I would like to point out that if you react like this every time, it could begin to start having quite a few adverse effects to your health."

The painful groan that was bubbling up from Tony's lips instantly died in his throat. His heart stopped and he flung himself up into a sitting position to look hastily around the room. The man he had come to know as Vision wasn't anywhere to be seen.

More importantly, the voice had called him 'sir.'

Vision had never called him that.

Eyes wide in disbelief, Tony whispered out a name that he'd mourned for over three years.

"JARVIS?"


	5. Ignite

"JARVIS, is that you, buddy?"

"Indeed, sir," the AI responded blithely.

Tony gaped at the sound.

How was this happening?

JARVIS was gone. After the whole Ultron shitstorm, the AI's data was supposed to be corrupted and destroyed beyond repair. The only remnants of him had been used to create Vision, someone so similar yet so different from Tony's invaluable companion and friend. The genius simply couldn't believe it.

Still half-sprawled on the floor, the man's head was swimming as he dazedly looked at his surroundings, trying to find at least _something_ familiar to anchor himself with.

However, this only made things worse, because what the man saw only made him more confused—he was in the Malibu mansion.

The place that had been completely destroyed by the Mandarin over nine years ago.

What the hell?

All the sleepiness was gone in a blink. Quickly untwisting his legs from the tangled sheets, Tony jumped inelegantly to his feet, letting his eyes sweep full circle around the room just to make sure he wasn't just imagining things. However, after a few moments, unease began to settle in the billionaire's stomach.

Everything was as he remembered it—the bed, the light stand, the dresser, the huge windows displaying the violent waves of the ocean—everything was the same.

Had it all been just a dream?

As if just remembering, Tony went to gingerly check his side, right where he had been stabbed by Thanos, only to be met with smooth skin.

Tony paused in shock and checked again.

Nope. Nothing.

No pain, no blood, no scarring.

Huh…

After standing there in bewilderment and staring at his bare stomach, Tony began to notice other small changes as well. His hands weren't as worn as they used to be, his skin less wrinkly, and most of the little nicks and scars that he had gained over the years as a result of being Iron Man were gone.

Half in hope and half in horror, Tony's hands instinctually went in search for the metal that usually protruded out of his chest, his fingers instantly meeting the familiar, cool smoothness of the arc reactor.

The man sighed in relief.

It was still there.

However, the man's stomach did a back flip as he noticed the obvious difference in shape.

It was no longer the upgraded nanotech version, but the original one.

Shit.

Tony bolted towards the bathroom, trying very hard not to panic, his socked feet almost slipping on the wooden floor in his hurry.

Just as expected, the face he saw as he looked in the mirror was his of course, except the difference that made the man's jaw drop was the fact that he looked a decade younger, the beginning signs of palladium poisoning starting to creep up his chest in black asymmetrical patterns.

"Is everything alright, sir?" JARVIS interrupted, "Your vitals are spiking above the healthy parameters."

The billionaire's heart jumped at the sound of the achingly familiar voice and Tony wanted to scream.

No. Everything was _not _alright.

He'd just died a few minutes ago and had, what the genius was beginning to believe to be, a celestial experience with the very things that had destroyed his life. And for no particular reason, he was back here—alive and kicking—in the body of his younger self who was currently dying of palladium poisoning.

So, sue him if he was having a bit of a freak out.

However, something began to niggle at the back of his mind enough for him to pause his inner rant. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Tony took a second to really think about his situation.

"Jay, what's the date?" the man asked, completely disregarding the AI's prior question.

"Today is Sunday, March 21," JARVIS answered.

"The year?"

"Pardon, sir?"

"The year, buddy," Tony repeated, almost desperately. "What's the year?"

The AI paused before responding, his answer slow and tinged with obvious concern.

"It is 2010, sir."

The billionaire did the quick mental math in his head.

That meant that it would be two years till the alien attack on New York, five till the birth of Vision, eight till the Accords, and ten full years until Thanos came and destroyed half of the universe.

Hope began to rise in his chest and the man huffed a small laugh under his breath. It was almost euphoric as the dread he'd felt since waking up slowly seeped out of his bones. The man shut his eyes and tipped his head back in relief, muscles relaxing slightly.

Whatever the hell was happening to him, whoever or whatever sent him back, palladium poisoning or not, Starks were never the type of people to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He had ten years.

He could do this.

It was an entire decade to change things for the better and warn everyone of the coming imminent threat.

Ten years' worth of memories that would be invaluable in gathering everyone under a united front.

An image of Captain America's shield came to the front of Tony's mind, and the man felt his resolve grow even stronger.

This time, Tony would make sure that they wouldn't waste precious time bitching about each other's differences.

This time, he'd do everything in his power to keep everyone he cared about together and alive.

This time, he would succeed.

"Are you quite sure you're alright, sir?" JARVIS asked again.

Tony suddenly came back to himself at the sound of his AI's voice and belatedly realized he was crying. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but the billionaire didn't care to wipe it away. He simply squared his shoulders, a mischievous smirk slowly curling upon his lips.

"Yep. Everything's good, buddy," he drawled, meeting the gaze of his reflection once again. A fire blazed in his eyes and, in them, a grand plan was forming.

"Everything is _just_ fine."


	6. Can't Get a Break

Hello again. :) We're back in Peter's point of view. Please enjoy. Comments and reviews give me life!

* * *

Everyone was giving Peter a wide birth.

It seemed that he had been louder than he originally thought. When he'd broken down, Drax had heard him and automatically assumed the 'small bug boy' was being attacked, running to Peter's aid, guns blazing. But when he found the teenager crying his eyes out behind a large pile of rocks, he decided to go find the wizard instead.

Apparently, he wasn't very good at comforting people.

Strange then came out of his weird floaty stasis mode and went to calm Peter down with one of his spells, making Peter pass out instantly.

And that is how, the young man found himself awake and lying in the Cloak of Levitation.

It was a bit frustrating really.

The cloak was simply refusing to let him go. No matter how many times he asked it to release him or declared that he was perfectly fine, it wouldn't react, simply wrapping itself tighter around him when he tried to struggle from its grip. Floating in mid-air was cool and all, and being warm wasn't that bad either, but he wasn't fricken five. He was a sixteen-year-old superhero for Thor's sake.

He could handle himself, thank you very much.

Everyone else didn't seem to agree, however.

All three of the Guardians didn't say anything as they set up camp, looking up at his space burrito self intermittently. They actually seemed genuinely worried about him despite their awkwardly violent first meeting. Star-Lord and Drax tossed him up food rations sporadically as they sat around a small bonfire and Mantis gently checked up on him so many times that Peter would have seen it as sweet had it not irked him so much.

The wizard did nothing to help either. He just simply looked at his sentient cloak for a moment and nodded in approval, announced something about reconvening at dawn, and swiftly returned back to his meditations as if nothing was amiss.

In any case, Peter was stuck.

He had already cried himself out and, despite his exhaustion, he couldn't sleep anymore. His body was too tense and every time he closed his eyes, the stricken face of Mr. Stark would pop up in his head. There was simply nothing left to do but just lay still and look up at the stars. However, that got pretty boring very fast. He didn't recognize any of the star systems and he had never been particularly interested in Astronomy in the first place.

Let's just say that any of Peter's potential curiosity of space had been successfully crushed before it had even begun.

So, after a couple of hours of waiting, with nothing else to do, the teenager shifted onto his stomach and decided to break the silence with the only other person still awake.

"Do your antennas always glow like that?"

The pale alien looked up at him, her big black eyes full of kindness.

She currently had Star-Lord's head on her lap—the man practically dead to the world, his body relaxed and mouth slightly ajar, a great difference compared to how irate he was when he was trying to cope with the loss of his girlfriend. All the while, Mantis' fingers stayed gently pressed against his temples.

"No," the woman said softly, "They only glow when I'm using my empathy."

"Are you using it on him right now?"

She nodded. "Yes. He is in great pain. He needs rest."

"Wait. Are you actually _making_ him sleep?"

She nodded again.

"That is _so_ cool," Peter said in amazement.

Mantis smiled brightly in reply.

After that, their conversation flowed smoothly, if a bit clumsily. Both of them all too eager to put a stop to the heavy silence and get their minds off the harsh truths of reality. Mantis' childlike innocence was instantly endearing to the teenager and, at the same time, the boy's quirky personality and nonstop questions about _everything_ kept the alien happily occupied.

They talked far into the night till their eyes begun to droop and Mantis was able to free her hands, Star-Lord now entering into a more natural form of sleep. As they finally settled in and began to doze off, Peter asked one more question that had been eating away at him since the beginning of the conversation.

"How did you know?" he murmured quietly.

"How did I know what, little bug?"

Peter suppressed the need to clarify that he wasn't 'little' and spiders were not, in fact bugs, but simply continued timidly, "How did you know what was happening? I heard you say that something was coming and seconds later…_it _happened."

Getting his meaning, Mantis contemplated solemnly for a moment in the darkness. She was quiet for so long that Peter was beginning to worry that he'd gone too far. However, after another second, Mantis answered, her voice full of sadness, "I sensed a powerful emotion of great loss. Usually, I can't sense feelings without physical touch, but this time it wasn't necessary. It was like the stars, themselves were crying."

A chill went down Peter's spine at Mantis' words. He wished he hadn't asked.

Peter opened his mouth to apologize for being insensitive but was interrupted by the woman's alarmed gasp.

"Little bug, why are you glowing?"

"What?" Peter asked in confusion, looking down at himself, still laying in the Cloak of Levitation. Peter didn't notice anything weird and was about to say as much when his spider senses started going haywire and his body was suddenly jerked to the side by an unseen force.

The teenager let out a shout, which promptly woke up the others. Both Star-Lord and Drax grabbed their weapons on instinct along with Strange who formed multiple glowing magic circles around his arms.

Once the sorcerer caught sight of the young superhero, his eyes widened.

"Peter!" he yelled.

Too occupied with holding on for dear life to reply, Peter could finally see what Mantis and Strange were so worried about. He wasn't the one that was glowing, but the big black hole, trying its best to pull him in, was. It was increasing in size at a rapid pace, growing large enough for a full-sized man to fall in.

Peter was never more relieved that a magic cloak had taken such a liking to him in his life, because it was the only thing preventing him from being swallowed to god knows where. However, to Peter's trepidation, he could feel himself beginning to slip from the cloak's grasp as it tried its hardest to fly away in the opposite direction.

It was only moments later that Peter felt himself finally be ripped away and go air born, breath leaving his lungs in a silent scream—

—Only to have his momentum suddenly stopped as he was jerked back by a thin golden rope around his arm. Looking around himself in panic, his body was now all the way in the black hole and he could see Strange and the others gripping the other end, the four straining together to tug him back to the ground. All of them apparently unaffected by the pull.

The young man just couldn't seem to get a break.

That particular sentiment grew exponentially as the mouth of black hole over his head started to slowly become smaller and smaller as the seconds past.

It was at this point that Peter gave up, the feeling of complete helplessness returning again at full force.

Peter glanced at the people still trying to pull him back, his eyes landing on Mantis—his friend who he'd just met a day ago, tears streaked down her face, screaming at the men to pull harder.

It was all useless of course.

There was really nothing they could do and Peter could only give her a wan smile before he was finally sucked all the way into the darkness, leaving his companions on the other side with varying amounts of horror on their faces.

P. B. P.

The entire ride was like an uncomfortable rollercoaster, filled with colorful flashes and warped shapes that made Peter's head swim, each second passing with the teenager expecting to meet his untimely end as he speedily made his way towards a colorful, continuously twisting bundle that he guessed was the singularity.

Gripping his mask tightly, he prepared for impact and thought of his aunt and her warm hugs and perfectly fluffy pancakes, hoping it would dull the pain of dying for a second time.

However, as soon as he touched the center and was enveloped by a bright, blinding light, rather than experiencing the excruciating agony that he expected, he was instead flung out into the open air and was met with the view of a familiar blue sky line.

Quickly trying to wrap his head around what was happening, the superhero was too preoccupied to notice what was right in front of him.

Pain from a totally unanticipated source, jolted through every part of Peter's body as he basically faceplanted into a very hard brick building, knocking the wind out of him and what felt like most of his teeth. Too stunned to stick to the wall, he then fell about three stories, making impact with the dirty asphalt floor of a dark alley way—right into a puddle.

Peter groaned.

Ouch.

Super strength or not, that was _definitely_ going to leave some bruises.

"Hey, you alright?" a masculine voice suddenly called out.

It was to the young man's credit that he at least tried to put his mask back on and hide his face. Nevertheless, his arms ached too much and refused to obey him, laying limply next to the rest of him.

Peter could only look on in resignation as a tall figure slowly walked closer and leaned over him, and yet again, the superhero found himself on the ground staring dazedly up at a person he didn't know.

However, this time, Peter was pretty sure he was concussed or hallucinating, or…something.

The man was definitely not Star-Lord.

Instead, he looked strangely like an older version of himself. Same brown hair, same eyes, same general face structure, just a bit longer and more haggard looking…and a lot more hobo-y.

Peter blinked.

The man blinked back.

A pause.

"Oh god, there's another one."


End file.
